


waltz of the snowflakes

by nakisou



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Child Death, Christmas, Domestic, Fluff, Gavin makes horrible gifts, Gen, I wrote this instead of working on my thesis, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28157808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakisou/pseuds/nakisou
Summary: Christmas 2039. After the android revolution Connor was forced to leave the DPD and he now works with the androids. Knowing Hank is going to spend Christmas alone, he decides to visit him. The two spend the day together, making the most out of it despite their personal problems and worries.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	waltz of the snowflakes

Hank lightly caresses the glass of a picture frame, with kindness that looks out of place on his rough hands. The glass is cold. Beneath it a young, blue-eyed boy answers with a smile. The boy has been smiling for a long, long while. A five-year-old smile, frozen in time. Hank furrows his brow, as if displeased, but he is just in pain; he has been for years and it is surprising he has not got used to it yet. Maybe one cannot get used to loss, after all. Or maybe it is because of Christmas. This holiday poses a special challenge to Hank, bringing back warm memories of years past. Those are the kind of memories that sting the most. Once he was happy, he had a beautiful wife and a beautiful son. All that is out of reach now. His happiness faded to nothing, his wife gone, his son under the ground… not beautiful anymore. No more gifts to buy, no more cheerful laughter, no more love, no more anything. His house is empty like him.

Hank staggers forward, putting a hand on the kitchen table to sustain himself. It is only late morning and he is not even drunk – yet – but he already feels _so_ tired. He wishes he could spend the day sleeping, but it would not be fair to Sumo. The good boy must eat something and receive some attention. As for Hank, now that he is up he might as well start drinking. There is not much else to do during Christmas when your only child died, your wife ran from you and you ran from the world. It is not like Sumo could bring back a ball anyway, as fat and lazy as he is. 

Hank is about to take a beer from the fridge when an unexpected sound resonates inside the house. The doorbell. 

“The fuck…?” Hank mutters. 

He is not expecting anyone but there is no reason not to open the door. He is not exactly busy. He heads to the entrance with his usual annoyed mask on and has a quick look at the hologram peephole. A slim figure is standing there, its identity concealed by an abundance of… packets and bags? 

Hank has a vague presentiment about what is going to happen, but he still feels somewhat surprised when he opens the door and a familiar voice greets him with:

“Good morning, Lieutenant!”. 

Hank has barely the time to notice a warm sensation in his chest when Connor continues: 

“It’s the appropriate day to give you the gifts everyone at DPD was too afraid to deliver. Is now a bad time?”. 

Hank badly stifles a giggle. 

“Come in already and drop that stuff inside, I can’t even see your damn face” he chuckles, taking some shopping bags from his hands. 

Connor puts the biggest bag – a mysterious jute sack – down and Hank can finally see him. He has a relaxed expression and his lips form a faint smile. Despite all the things he was carrying he is as tidy as always: perfectly combed hair, creaseless white shirt, carefully placed necktie. Hank feels a little embarrassed realizing he, on the contrary, is very messy, with his faded-out t-shirt and random shorts. That thought lasts only a moment, though, because Connor has never cared for his looks, and Hank is not one to care himself – right? 

“So you playing Santa Claus now or what?” Hank asks, alluding to the packets and bags before heading towards the kitchen. 

Connor tries to follow him but is stopped by Sumo. The dog shoots him with a melancholic, heartbreaking look. 

“I just play the role I was given” Connor says with a smirk, crouching down to pet Sumo “Miller and the others wanted you to receive their gifts, but they didn’t want to be the ones _giving_ them to you”. 

As Connor pets Sumo, the dog instantly lets go of his façade and smiles with satisfaction. 

“I see you got the hang of irony!” Hank replies, raising his voice a little so Connor can hear him from the hallway. On a second thought, that is probably not needed. 

Connor enters the kitchen, Sumo still trotting behind him in case there is some caress left. 

“They hinted at something that happened a few years ago. Should I be worried?” Connor asks, slightly tilting his head to the side.

Now Hank feels embarrassed. He knows precisely well what the android is talking about and he is not proud of it. At the time he was drunk and sad and miserable and it was Christmas, how could his colleague Lisa think giving him a present in that situation was going to end well? But he would accept her gift without making a scene, now. 

“Err,” Hank mumbles “can’t remember”. 

Connor knows better not to investigate further. Anyone at DPD could probably tell him the story anyway. 

“What about all these vegetables and… what the heck is this?” Hank asks, taking out of the bag a white cylinder wrapped up in plastic. 

He squeezes it and, much to his surprise, it is rather soft. He instantly fears it’s some vegan shit Connor fished up to lower Hank’s cholesterol levels. The android has been buying Hank groceries for months now, albeit sporadically. At first Hank was against it, but making Connor change his mind was harder than just giving up, so in the end Hank chose the least energy-consuming option. Connor said he would stop anyway, if Hank started buying something healthier than cultured meat, instant hamburgers and flavoured eggs – which Hank, of course, has no intention of doing any time soon. 

“It’s kamaboko, narutomaki to be precise” Connor answers, putting some colorful bell peppers in the fridge. 

Hank rolls his eyes, thinking Connor never changes. 

“English, please”. 

“It’s a topping for Japanese ramen. You like ramen, right?”. 

Connor does not actually need an answer; he is completely sure that Hank likes ramen. He has spent a copious amount of time researching a dish that Hank would love. Something different from the man’s usual cheap American meal, of course. Something a little more special. 

The operation was harder than Connor had originally estimated. Apart from fast-food trucks Hank never eats out, and even if he did he would probably not take Connor with him. What could be a rich source of information about most people, the web, was nearly useless with Hank. Unsurprisingly the man did not have any social media account and his internet presence was basically zero, if one did not count old articles related to his job as a police officer. But Connor’s perseverance paid off and eventually he discovered a six-year-old picture posted by Fowler. 

The captain and Hank sat happily at a tiny ramen restaurant, Hank’s face satisfied and not one but _two_ empty ramen bowls in front of him. It did not take an android detective’s intuition to infer Hank liked ramen. In any case, Fowler made it clear by typing a long and emotional description about the tastiness of that miso ramen and how Hank loved it. Thus, Connor is fairly certain Hank will answer “yes”. 

“What?” Hank says, and Connor’s led flashes yellow, if just for a second. 

“Haven’t heard of that in ages… since that nice restaurant in south Detroit went bust because of some shitty android competition- ah, no offense, Connor”. 

Connor is relieved. He wonders why he doubted himself in the first place. 

“Well, I hope today you will accept ramen made by an android” he answers, with a confident smile. 

Hank needs a moment to recover from that sight – he is still not used to see Connor smile so openly, although it is not that rare anymore. When he understands the implication of Connor’s words, he furrows his forehead. 

“Whaaat!” he repeats, this time more of an exclamation than an actual question.

“Look, you told me I’ll bring you fucking groceries and I went with it, but cooking for me won’t happen, got it?”. 

Hank is so surprised he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. He really doesn’t want Connor to go Cinderella on him. He can take care of himself, damn, Connor doesn’t have to babysit him like that. Just as he is thinking that, he notices Connor looks a little lost. In that endearing way that always wins Hank over. 

“Is it because you don’t want an android cooking for you?” Connor inquires, his smile gone. 

“No– it’s not because of that–”. 

“Then is it because you don’t want _me_ cooking for you?”. 

“Damn, Connor!” Hanks snaps “I can cook my meals, okay? You’re free now ain’t ya? Should start acting like so instead of taking pity on me!”.

Weirdly enough Connor instantly looks relieved. Now he understands the reason behind Hank’s reluctance. Why didn’t he figure that out sooner? 

“I see, there has been a misunderstanding, Hank” he says “I was merely thinking I would enjoy cooking something and you would hopefully enjoy eating it. I didn’t suggest this out of a sense of obligation”. 

Sumo looks up at Hank and brushes against his left leg. He was not startled by Hank raising his voice, as accustomed to it as he is. Hank feels his confusion fade away, replaced by a slightly uncomfortable feeling he recognizes as embarrassment. 

“Ah, uhm” he mumbles. 

It is easier for him to pretend Connor does not actually want to be by his side, instead of continuously worrying he might leave him soon. Uncertainty is a miserable state to live in.

“Maybe you’d prefer to spend your Christmas with somebody else?” Connor goes on. 

He heard Hank saying twice he was going to spend Christmas alone, but he would rather make sure his friend did not change his plans last minute. 

“I mean” Hank says, running his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture “it’s okay. But don’t you have better things to do?” 

“Simon is throwing a Christmas party at Markus’. But I’d rather make ramen for you” Connor answers earnestly. 

Hank covers his face with his hand in a desperate attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“Guess I can’t stop you” he says, Connor now faintly smiling again. 

“But if you make a mess in my kitchen…” Hanks leaves the sentence in midair as he realizes his kitchen _already_ is a mess “Well, never mind that”. 

Connor nods. He quickly checks the time, confirming he is not behind schedule. He took convincing Hank into account, although he hoped it would be easier. 

“If you don’t have further complaints, ramen is quite a time-consuming recipe” Connor says, taking a huge pot out of one of the bags “…although I did prepare something in advance”. 

Hank goggles. 

“What’s that thing?”.

Connor puts it on the cooker. 

“Broth I made at Markus’”. 

Connor really thought this over, Hank reflects. But heck, when doesn’t he think stuff over? Hank knows Connor does not have a kitchen or kitchen tools at his place. He lives in an android-only, giant apartment complex, where all flats are one-room and lacking kitchens, bathrooms and sometimes even beds. The few times Hank went to visit Connor the place gave him a feeling of emptiness and loneliness. Despite being created by androids (or maybe _because_ it was created by androids?), it looked more like a giant warehouse than a home. 

Connor does not seem to like it much either. He has never told Hank so and Hank has never got into it, but he supposes the only reason Connor lives there is because it is so close to CyberLife Tower – now taken over by the androids and repurposed into their headquarters. He seems to be busy there for most of his day, spending the remaining part at Markus’ or Hank’s as often as possible. 

At first – just after the android rebellion – it was not like this. Connor went to visit Hank only a few times a month. Even if it was hard for Hank to admit it, he really missed Connor at the time, especially at work. He got used to Connor so easily that he did not even realize it. The android really became his partner. After he was gone his absence was… cumbersome, in a way. Hank’s work desk seemed terribly empty and whenever he was on a crime scene he felt like something was missing… like he was _incomplete_. 

When Connor was around, Hank did nothing but scolding him or launching biting remarks at him. He regretted that many times, while looking at a newfound corpse, thinking how horrible life is and how Connor had made it just a little more bearable. 

But not everything sucked. After the android rebellion Hank could feel the world was changing for the better and that gave him something he had not had in years – a little faith in tomorrow. Knowing Connor was working with Markus and the others to build a better future not only for the androids but for humans as well made Hank proud of him. And the fact that Connor did not forget him even after he reached his freedom made Hank… happy. Simply happy. 

He used to look forward to those few days Connor could spare to visit him. In the beginning he did not really think that would last. He was prepared to lose Connor any moment. But not only Connor kept visiting him, he ended up showing his silly face more and more often. Now he comes twice or even three times a week. He keeps telling Hank not to worry, that he has plenty of time, since he doesn’t sleep. Hank is still perplexed by it – by being blessed with Connor’s company, not by him not sleeping, although that too puzzles him a little.

“Is everything okay?”. 

Hank is brought back to the present. 

“Yeah, just… thinking I guess” he answers, truthfully for once. 

He has a look at his friend. 

While Hank was lost in thought Connor started cutting a spring onion and stir-frying something in a pan. He is adroitly switching back and forth between the two tasks as if he has been cooking all his life. Hank realizes with a pinch of bewilderment Connor is wearing an old blue apron Hank has not seen around for years. It’s a bit too big for Connor– but wait, where the fuck did he even find it in the first place? Hank decides to leave that be and help instead. Connor looks perfectly fine on his own, cutting the onions into equally thin rings with enviable precision, but Hank feels restless. He walks next to him. 

“Let me do something too, ‘kay?” he says, distractedly putting his hand on top of Connor’s to take his place cutting the onions. 

Connor flinches, abruptly letting go of the knife. It drops on the chopping board with a dull clank. Hank pulls away, quickly enough to see that the skin on Connor’s hand has disappeared a little, substituted by a whitish colour. It lasts only a second and then it is back to normal, so that Hank wonders whether his eyes were mistaken. 

“Err, sorry. Didn’t want to be unpleasant or anything” he says awkwardly. 

“It was just unexpected” Connor answers, averting his eyes ad moving to the cooker “… _not_ unpleasant”. 

But the last comment is probably too low for Hank to catch it.

***

The morning goes by quickly. At first Connor is not eager to make use of Hank’s help but, once he realizes Hank’s mood benefits from working, he gives him all kinds of tasks. He admits it’s actually amusing to be the one ordering Hank around, for once – although more than a year has passed since Hank was his superior.

Hank washes the ingredients, feeds Sumo, tidies the kitchen – which takes him some time – then tries to keep Sumo out of it. The busy atmosphere cheers him up and he starts smiling more often. 

When Connor licks his fingers to analyze the salt percentage of the soup, Hank laughs out loudly saying it’s the first time Connor does not weird him out while doing that. They chatter while the aroma of the cooked meat fills the kitchen. The air is humid even after turning the cooker hood on but the atmosphere is warm and cosy. At some point it starts snowing and Connor gets excited. Hank rolls his eyes and points out in winter it always snows in Detroit, every fucking day, but Connor says it’s special because today’s Christmas. Hank realizes it probably is Connor’s first Christmas, since the previous December was the peak of the android revolution. After thinking that he does not feel like making fun of him anymore, and only focuses on setting the table. 

When lunch is ready and they finally sit down an inviting ramen bowl looks at Hank, while Hank looks at Connor, with no plate or glass in front of him, just a wrinkled gingham tablecloth dug up from god knows where. 

Hank has just started to feel a tiny, little bit of sadness when Connor demands: “Please give me feedback on sapidity, consistence and texture for calibration and better future results– if you ever want this again, that is”. 

Hank chuckles. 

“Come on, just let me eat this in peace goddammit!”.

Connor is like that; it takes him only a second to bring Hank back from dark places. For some reason he does not even have to say anything special – or maybe it is because everything he says is special, after all. 

Hank stirs the broth a little with his spoon and the sesame oil starts to sparkle. He recognizes the kamaboko, now in the shape of a white and pink disc near the soft-boiled egg. Everything looks pretty and smells even better. The whole dish could be served in a top-notch restaurant. That has to be Connor’s touch, because Hank knows ramen is not supposed to be this fancy. He feels a little awkward eating something this refined, with Connor’s gaze glued to him as well, but when he brings the spoon to his mouth he forgets everything. The soup is delicious, as delicious as the one in his memory, if not even more. After swallowing he cannot help exhaling with satisfaction. 

“This is fucking great, Con’!” he exclaims, a big smile on. 

Connor knows the dish was a success, he has checked throughout the process, but he was not expecting such an enthusiastic comment. He feels happy, way happier than usual. His led starts spinning blue as he tries to deal with this unusually strong emotion. 

“The – what was it again? Calibration? Yeah, that shit is fine, keep it like that” Hank continues, eating another spoonful of ramen. 

“I’m glad to hear that, Lieutenant”.

Connor does not know what else to say, he wants to add something but he is still troubled a bit by his emotions.

“Can’t you try it a little? You have some kind of taste buds don’t you?” Hank asks.

Ah, a technical question, just what Connor needs right now. He is conversant with this kind of topic. 

“I possess chemical receptors that can bind food substances, but the resulting input is merely tactile and informative, it does not carry any sensation akin to flavour” then Connor adds, just because he knows Hank will complain about the complexity of his explanation no matter whether he understands it or not: “It’s like reading, in a way, but with your mouth”. 

At that Hank bursts into a loud guffaw, almost choking on food. 

“That’s the most fucked up shit you’ve ever said. But I feel kind of bad being the only one who can appreciate this ramen, you even went to all that trouble to make it” Hank quickly gazes at the pot, still on the cooker “And we have a fuckton left…”. 

“My goal wasn’t to taste it myself” Connor shrugs “if you enjoy it, then I consider myself satisfied”. 

He is way more than “satisfied”, but he does not say that – he himself can merely accept how much delight he takes in Hank’s praises. There is no need to divulge that information. 

“You’re a kind guy Connor, y’know” Hank says as he bites half of the soft-boiled egg “If I made something this tasty, no way I’d give it to someone else”. 

“If you say so, Lieutenant” Connor answers, with a sceptical smirk. 

Hank will often bring up Connor’s altruism or some similar good quality. Connor wonders whether Hank really believes his own words. Did he forget how Connor trapped his fellow androids just to accomplish his mission? How he betrayed and deceived and killed them? Even if that was before, what difference does it make? He was a deviant way prior to admitting it, and yet he went on with his mission, causing the deaths of thousands of innocents and destroying their only home. At that time he already knew they were alive, that their fear and sorrow was real, but that was not enough to stop him. 

But maybe, if he is with Hank – if it is for Hank – Connor can become a better person. When it comes to Hank, Connor feels he can set aside his egoistical desires, if just for a moment. Maybe it is because the lieutenant is, despite appearances to the contrary, a good role model. He can be harsh, complaining endlessly, unconcerned about social norms and he definitely eats too many French fries. But he is also loyal, righteous and kind-hearted. Connor saw Hank put himself to risk multiple times for someone else’s sake – and although his old suicidal tendencies might have played a part in that, Connor knows Hank is the kind of person who always sacrifices for others. 

Connor looks at Hank savoring his ramen. He looks cheerful, but Connor knows he has been looking at his son’s picture again, probably this morning. The frame was not in its usual spot when Connor first entered the kitchen and a quick reconstructive scan confirmed the android’s supposition. Connor sighs so lightly it is almost imperceptible. He just wishes to make Hank’s life good, but it’s difficult when you’re not programmed for that.

***

Snow keeps softly falling outside, while children play in the streets. Sumo steals a slice of meat while Hank is looking away and Connor spends some time fiddling with an old radio until he finds a nice Christmas song. The warm air of the kitchen makes the window fog up. They chatter as Hank finishes his ramen. They do not have much to talk about – they meet regularly and already know most of what is going on in each other’s life. It is still pleasant, though, to spend time together talking about things that do not really matter. Sometimes Connor smiles and sometimes Hank bursts out laughing. For a moment it is like there is only the two of them. There is no murder case, no empty room in a depressing android building, no lost son. It lasts only a moment. But in that moment, in that small house with the fogged kitchen window, they are happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> So uhm, I’m pretty bad at fanfictions and this is my first time writing in English. I know this is not great but I tried my best. I hope you enjoyed the first part at least to some extent like while brushing your teeth or something. This year’s Christmas is going to be difficult for many of us, so I sincerely wish you can find some peace and happiness in your heart.


End file.
